


Fireworks

by RH18



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a happy ending?, F/M, Gen, Oneshot, References to Depression, Songfic (kind of), depends on your perspective..., post episode: s01 ep10 Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 06:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15407160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RH18/pseuds/RH18
Summary: She doesn't shoot, he walks away, and her life has to carry on.





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> I find writing in the present tense really tough, but wanted to bring you into her head a bit more for this one. I also seem to have injected a bit of Joan into Beth by accident... Hope it works!
> 
> Partially inspired by the Mitski song Fireworks.

She sometimes wonders what would have happened if she’d taken the shot. If that would have been the start of something, or the end. A different end to this one.

Usually, though, she pushes those thoughts down. No use in living in counterfactuals and fantasies, she’d done what she’d done. She hadn’t done what she hadn’t. She’d faltered, and waited too long, and he’d smirked and stood and taken his gun back and left, his point made. _He’d left_.

Dean had stayed, got to keep his wife and his kids and his life, and for a while he had been uneasy. It was as though he knew something essential had left the house with Rio that night, some fatal wound had been patched over clumsily and he didn’t know when it would reopen. But soon, with playdates and tuna sandwiches and chaste kisses on the cheek, he forgot. Found life much the same as it had been before. Found his eyes wandering again, and eventually his hands.

Beth didn’t care much. Her name had been added to the accounts, and that was the only real change. She gave him an allowance now, not the other way around. The mortgage got paid.

Well, there was one more change – he had to approve his ‘overtime’ in advance with her. She worked a couple of evenings a week, and needed him to watch the kids. He’d asked her what she did, just once. She’d stared straight at him and said, “I pay our mortgage, I buy our groceries, I save for our kids’ education. That’s what I do.” He didn’t ask again, dimly aware that he was probably happier in the dark.

This evening is no different. She kisses the kids goodnight, gives Dean a curt wave, and heads out of the front door to her car. At the first red light she shrugs off her heavy coat. She doesn’t wear pearls any more – _don’t think about it Beth, don’t think about it_ – so instead a simple opal on a fine gold chain hangs around her throat. Her dress is deep green, bias cut so it clings around her hips, just reaching her knees. The neckline is modest, the bateau cut drawing attention to her delicate collarbones and long neck.

It takes a while to reach her destination, on the far side of the city. Just before pulling up near a big, bland business hotel, she reaches behind her seat and digs around in a bag. She draws out a pair of high, stiletto-heeled nude pumps, kicking off her tennis shoes and slipping these on instead.

Walking into the lobby, she looks around, quickly spotting a middle-aged man in a grey suit. Thinning hair and nervous, watery eyes. A small, almost coy smile playing at her lips, she approaches him.

“Mr. Ward?”

He stands up suddenly, smoothing down the legs of his trousers and turning to face her with mouth open, ready to reply. Instead his eyes drop to her bust and he just gawps, response apparently forgotten.

Smile still politely in place, she continues in a sugary voice. “Are we ready to head up? I can’t wait to meet your friends.”

“Uh, yes –” his eyes flick up to her face, dip down again, dart up once more. “Yes, let’s head up miss, uh…”

“Lisa.”

“Yes, Lisa. Uh, you can call me Julian.”

He offers his arm, and she takes it, sashaying toward the elevators. She can see his brow beading with sweat in the mirrored walls, keeps smiling, says nothing. When he nervously runs his fingers over her hand she feels nothing, either. It’s been a long time since a man has made her feel much of anything but boredom, pity and faint distaste.

At the chime of a bell the doors slide smoothly open, and they walk out into a conference room with maybe 200 people milling around in it. Generic jazz music provides a muted background to the buzz of conversation, and the far side of the room is dotted with round tables – candles in silver-plated holders, ornately folded lilac napkins, jaunty namecards with a company logo stamped at the top.

They head into the room, and before long another man makes a beeline for them, a young blonde woman on his arm.

“Julian, good to see you. Didn’t know if you’d make it.”

“And you, good to see you, Tom. How’s married life treating you?”

“Much better this time.” He laughs, loudly. “You know my little Millie here, just the sweetest thing.” He clutches her closer to his side, possessively, and she beams up at him, before her eyes flick to Beth’s. There is the briefest of pauses.

“Oh, this is my, uh, this is Lisa.”

“So pleased to meet you,” she says, still smiling indulgently, and offers her hand – first to Tom, then to Millie.

Not even trying to disguise where his gaze is lingering, the man asks gruffly, “Where on earth did you find a woman like this?”

“At the airport, we met there,” Julian replies, a little too quick.

“What, she just came around on the baggage carousel and you plucked her off it?” He barks out another laugh.

“I actually work as a flight attendant. We got chatting before boarding for Denver, and then we were both on the same return flight too and, well…” she trails off, leaving it for them to fill in.

Tom lets out a wet snort through his moustache.

“An air hostess eh? Wouldn’t mind seeing the uniform. Nice work, my man, didn’t think you had it in you. Let’s take a seat, shall we?”

Julian smiles a little more, stands slightly taller and places a clammy hand on top of Beth’s once more before leading her over to the tables. She makes sure not to sit by Tom.

 

–––

 

A few long speeches and a couple of hours of stultifying conversation later – Beth kept quiet for the most part, it tends to be what they want – and the evening is finally winding down. People start heading down to their cars, mostly weaving a little after drinking too much of the free wine.

Julian is more than a little drunk too; his earlier nervousness had gone along with the alcohol, though the sweatiness hadn’t abated at all. He stands up, sways a little, reaches out a hand for balance and quickly pretends it was to help Beth up.

_Disgusting_ , she thinks as he leers at her. _Pathetic_.

For a moment she thinks (hopes) he’ll head towards the elevators like everyone else, but instead he pulls her out to the balcony. There’s no one else there now, and Beth gives a quiet, weary sigh as he leads her outside.

“That was fun, right? They’re fun guys. I’m fun, you’re fun, we’re all just… having fun.” He giggles blearily, and she forces out a small laugh and some kind of agreement.

She leans against the balustrade, bag held primly in front of her, toying with the clasp.

“I think we should… we should keep having fun,” he says with a sickening twist to his lips. Stumbling a step closer.

“I would love nothing more, Julian, but I’m afraid I need to head home soon.”

His brow furrows, and he half leans, half falls forwards, placing his hands on the cold stone either side of her.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, not at all. I mean” – and here he leans close to her ear, his breath stinking of steak and vinegary red wine – “I can afford it.”

“I’m not offering it.” Her tone, still sweet, has an edge to it now.

“C’mon, it’ll be good, I swear. You’ll like it.” He raises a hand to her breast, and just as he grabs it, feels something cold jutting into his abdomen.

“I told you, I don’t offer that service. Please take your hand off me.” Less sweet now. Less soft.

He straightens up and takes a couple of steps back, eyes wide, looking wildly down at her hands. But there’s nothing there, just the barest metallic glint as she slides something back into her bag and a sharp _snap_ as she closes it.

“Looks like the elevators have quietened down, now’s a good time to go.” When he remains frozen in place, she continues in a voice as warm and thick as treacle, “Come on, honey, don’t want your friends to see us leaving separately, do we?”

She sets off for the exit and he catches up with her after a couple of paces, still pale and silent, looking shaken. She remembers how scary it had been the first time she’d had a gun pointed at her, and almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

The doors slide open and they step into the elevator, Beth pressing the button for the lobby. She holds out her hand, palm facing up, watching his reflection closely. Seeing it, he scrambles around in his inside jacket pocket, pulls out an envelope and passes it to her. She opens it and counts through the notes rapidly, mouthing the numbers as she goes, then closes it and drops it into her bag.

She holds out her hand again. He looks at her in confusion.

“That was… what we agreed. It’s the right amount, I checked.”

She shakes her head, lips pursed slightly.

“I’m going to need a little more, to pay for the extra handful you helped yourself to.”

His face flushes in embarrassment and anger and he starts to open his mouth and step towards her, but then the bell chimes and the doors open onto the lobby. They step out, Beth’s smile back on her face. She spots yet another of the identikit men from their table and walks over.

“It was just _so_ lovely to meet you, I see why Julian talks about you all so much.”

“No no, pleasure’s all ours. Say, will you two join us for a drink? We’re just going to head to the hotel bar for a nightcap.”

Before Julian can respond, Beth sighs and says, “Oh I would just _love_ to but my sister’s visiting so I’d better get home. Actually, sweetie, would you mind covering a cab fare for me? I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine so I’m feeling a bit tipsy…” She giggles a little stupidly, looking up at Julian through her eyelashes.

He opens and closes his mouth, goldfish-like, but under the stares of his peers has little choice but to open his wallet and peel out a $20 bill.

She clucks her tongue and pulls the wallet from his hands. “Honestly, I’ll need to cover a tip too, don’t be so stingy!” She slides out another note or three, then gives it back to him.

“Thank you so much for the wonderful evening, darling,” she purrs, leaning forward and squeezing his forearm. “You stay as long as you like with your friends. Have some more _fun_. Bye now.”

And she sashays out of the hotel, around the corner to her car. She slips out of the shoes, does a little acrobatics to unzip the back of her dress halfway, then turns the radio right up and drives home as fast as the speed limit will allow.

 

–––

 

The windows are dark when she gets back. She slips out of the restrictive clothes, pulls on her satin pyjamas and washes her face. Lies down. Closes her eyes. Sighs. Gets out of bed again.

Quietly, she pads down to the kitchen, bag in hand, and grabs a bottle of whiskey and a glass. She heads out to the picnic table in the garden, quickly pouring herself a generous measure. Light filters out from the kitchen, but she doesn’t bother to turn on the one out here – it might wake the kids. For several minutes she just sits there in the warm summer night, nursing her drink, thinking. Then she sets it down, pulls out the envelope and extra bills she grabbed, and starts counting her cash again. When that’s done, she slides it back into her bag, then pulls out a small, heavy gun.

She stares down at it, a strange look in her eyes. Very slowly, she takes it apart, ejecting the magazine, checking there’s nothing in the chamber, laying pieces out as she goes. She works methodically, handling the firearm with tenderness, admiring its sharp, lethal lines. She’s had her licence for two months now, and after earning it allowed herself one moment of extravagance, treating herself to a beautiful rose-gold model. Silly, she knew, but it made her smile.

She smiles a lot now, to show everyone how fine and normal and happy she is – especially Ruby and Annie. But she never seems to smile when she’s alone, unless she’s cleaning the gun. She doesn’t cry anymore, either. Hasn’t cried since one cold night a few months ago. Something in her had fossilised, becoming stuck in that moment, that liminal state.

Suddenly, a loud _bang_ cracks out across the night and Beth’s face flies up. She drops the glass to the ground, where it smashes, her hands already fumbling to reassemble the gun.

Then her mind catches up with her body, and her movements still. It was a firework, visible over the treeline. Something the neighbours had leftover from July 4th. No cause for panic. She sits back, and watches the light fade, waiting for another. When it comes, it is red and huge, splashed across the sky like blood from a bullet wound. It illuminates her garden a little, casting faint light over the shards of glass scattered in a small pool of whiskey to her right, over the envelope of crumpled bills poking out of her handbag, over a figure standing under the trees.

Beth’s breath sticks in her throat, but she doesn’t panic. She keeps her eyes fixed on that spot, waiting. Another firework, blue. Long, slim lines. Sharp cheekbones. Dark clothes.

She stands, steps forwards once, twice, then walks calmly, rhythmically towards him. She holds the gun loosely in her hand. He stays still, hands in his pockets, jaw slightly raised, hooded eyes trained on her.

Her throat feels dry, her face hot, but her hands are cool and steady. She stops just short of him, and lets the silence lie languorously between them. Slowly, inch by inch, she raises the gun. His lips twitch, just slightly, his eyes flicking down to the barrel pointed at his chest then back up to meet hers. With painful precision he steps forwards, just once, so that it digs into him, right above his sternum.

“So what do you think?” he whispers.

She pulls the trigger. A loud crack rips through the night.

The magazine sits on the table, the whiskey soaks slowly into the patio, and they stand together, bathed in a gentle golden glow from overhead, right on the edge of the dark.

**Author's Note:**

> I reckon that if Beth failed Rio’s bizarre maybe-a-test thing, then he’d try to punish her in some way. And short of hurting her or her family (other than beating up Dean, obv) the cruellest thing to do would be to walk away from her and leave her to… what, go back to her old life and die of boredom? Nah, she’s not doing that! So I figured a lucrative, not entirely legal option where she gets to manipulate men would be a good interim job for her. But I don’t think she’d find it fulfilling, really – too easy, and too lacking the spark she loves/hates with Rio.
> 
> This is the first fic I’ve written in bloody ages, so let me know what you think – constructive criticism very welcome! I love this show, they’re all such amazing characters and their chemistry is magical.
> 
> Also, I am English. I do not understand guns. Please forgive any particularly egregious errors in that department...
> 
> Here are the lyrics to Mitski’s Fireworks (you’ll spot a few dotted around/referenced in this story):
> 
> One morning this sadness will fossilize  
> And I will forget how to cry  
> I'll keep going to work and you won't see a change  
> Save perhaps a slight gray in my eye
> 
> I will go jogging routinely  
> Calmly and rhythmically run  
> And when I find that a knife's sticking out of my side  
> I'll pull it out without questioning why
> 
> And then one warm summer night  
> I'll hear fireworks outside  
> And I'll listen to the memories as they cry, cry, cry
> 
> I will be married to silence  
> The gentleman won't say a word  
> But you know, oh you know in the quiet he holds  
> Runs a river that will never find home
> 
> And then one warm summer night  
> I'll hear fireworks outside  
> And I'll listen to the memories as they cry, cry, cry  
> Oh, one warm summer night  
> I'll hear fireworks outside  
> And I'll listen to the memories as they cry, cry, cry  
> Cry, cry, cry  
> Cry, cry, cry


End file.
